tightly for several long moments.
Hearing Gemma fall apart in Nancy’s arms, I let Mom go and walk around to pick her up. Her legs wrap around my waist, her arms tightly around my neck, and her face smashes against my neck.
There’s nothing worse than holding your child, watching them go through so much pain, and not be able to do anything about it.
A hand lands on my shoulder, the grip digging deep into the muscle. Glancing over, I find Douglas beside me, silent tears coursing down his cheeks.
This is the way we all stay for a long time, hovering around Molly, as she slips further away from us.
Chapter Thirty-Two
LINCOLN
A week later, I’m still at Molly’s bedside. I haven’t left the hospital at all. Family and friends come and go for visits, bringing me stuff when I need it. I refuse to leave her side. My place is right here.
Between Nancy, Lindsay, and Jenna, they’ve been watching over the kids and bringing them up here to see their mother. Gemma always clings to me when she’s here, which sends a huge amount of guilt through me. I know the kids need me, but Molly needs me more. I don’t care how long it takes, I’m not leaving her until she’s no longer with us.
The doctors have done two more EEGs. Both came back as expected. There’s brain activity, but only barely. Dr. Vegas and Dr. Becker said the only thing keeping her alive is the breathing machine. But even that won’t be enough when her heart stops, which will eventually happen.
I’ve come to the conclusion that they are wrong. I refuse to believe Molly is gone. My only hope is a miracle. And I pray every single fucking day, multiple times, for God to send that miracle.
When I’m not talking to or staring at my wife, I’m scouring the internet, desperately seeking even a shred of something that could help her. There has to be something somewhere, right?
My eyes are gritty, and I’m exhausted. I rarely sleep. I don’t want to miss even a second of the precious minutes, days, or weeks she has left.
The door behind me whooshes open, but I pay no mind to the person who just entered. My sole focus is on Molly. I’m vigilant in my watching over her.
“Honey, have you gotten any sleep at all?”
I glance at Nancy briefly with bleary eyes before bringing them back to Molly.
“I got an hour last night.”
“Lincoln, you have to take better care of yourself,” she says, coming to stand on the other side of the bed and grabbing Molly’s hand. “She wouldn’t want you to neglect yourself like this.”
Leaning forward in my chair, I grab Molly’s other hand and bring her fingers to my lips, rubbing her soft skin against my mouth. “I’ll sleep later.”
“Will you at least eat the food I brought you?”
I only now notice the bag sitting on the small table at the end of the bed. I nod, ignoring the pain in my stomach at the thought of eating. Food has been a low priority on my list the last week.
“How are the kids?”
Nancy fiddles with the blanket around Molly’s waist as she replies. “Worried, scared.” She lifts her eyes to me. “Missing their mom, but needing their daddy.”
I close my eyes, feeling a deep well of guilt hit me. “Thank you for taking care of them for us.”
“You never have to thank me for watching over my grandchildren.” She pauses a moment, weighing her next words. “I understand why you need to be here, Lincoln. I want to be here every second of every day she has left too, but those babies need you. They’re hurting just as much as you are. They need the comfort only their father can give.”
“What if….” I pull in a deep breath, the words I’m scared to say getting stuck in my throat. “What if she slips away while I’m not here? These are my only chances left to be with her. I don’t want her to be alone when she….” I trail off, unable to finish.
I may refuse to believe she’s going to die, but it’s still my worst fear.
Her smile is sad, filled with remorse, and her eyes tear up. “She won’t be alone. She’ll always have one of us here. My baby will not die alone.”
I know she’s right. Nancy would never let her daughter be left alone up here. Neither would anyone else in the family. The majority of the time, there’s at